


Delaying Gratification

by laurie_ky



Series: Moonridge Orgasm Anthology [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Case Fic, Established Relationship, Genderbending, M/M, Moonridge 2010 fic, Sexual Situations, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-26
Updated: 2010-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-12 05:24:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/121252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurie_ky/pseuds/laurie_ky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair's been watching for an opportunity to make Jim pay for his behavior when they'd been undercover. Now they're part of another undercover operation, and Jim's learning what it means to be in Purgatory.</p><p>Sequel to <i>Conflict Resolution</i></p><p>Written by Laurie</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delaying Gratification

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Conflict Resolution](https://archiveofourown.org/works/52349) by [laurie_ky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurie_ky/pseuds/laurie_ky). 



> Written for the 2010 Moonridge Orgasm Anthology, the prompt was 'Blair's mouth.' Thanks to Jane Davitt for beta'ing the story, her assistance is very much appreciated. Also, thank yous go to Caro Dee for organizing the Anthology, and doing all that tedious formatting, and to the buyers who supported the Moonridge Zoo charity efforts.
> 
>  **NOTE** The warning tags didn't really cover the situation in this story, but I felt it was better to overwarn then underwarn. There are dubious sexual overtures, but the person who is being approached can bail if he wants to.

Jim dropped his cell phone on the truck seat, made a highly illegal U-turn, then shot a look at Blair. "Change of plans, Chief."

Blair snorted. "Tell me something I haven't already figured out. So, Sneaks got himself in a little jam and he's dropping your name, waving some tidbit of information around and hoping it's juicy enough to get himself sprung from Booking."

"Good work there, Detective Sandburg. So, let's hope we can get this cleared up quickly, get the rest of the errands taken care of and then head home. You want Thai or Chinese tonight?" Jim sounded hopeful, but it wasn't his turn to pick the menu.

"Neither. I was going to make lasagna to go along with the Godfather marathon that's on the tube tonight. But I could change the menu; let's see how long it takes to deal with Sneaks. And Jim, I love you and all, but you're on your own when we get to the station. I'm not losing this pair of Nikes; I just bought them this week." Blair studied his gym shoes, admiring them. They were expensive, but they fit him really well and looked great.

"Would you like to be alone with your shoes, Sandburg?" Jim _sounded_ sarcastic, but his eyes were smiling.

Blair laid a hand on Jim's thigh and started making circles with his fingers, inching up bit by bit towards the promised land.

"What I'd like is to be alone with _you._ But since duty calls... " He slid his hand off Jim's leg, after a consoling pat.

"I'll take a rain check, Chief."

"And I'll be happy to cash it for you. Damn, going into work on our day off sucks."

Jim nodded in agreement. "Sure does. Hey, I wouldn't mind a little attention from my personal massage therapist later. Think he might be willing to make a house call?"

"Oh, yeah. And you still owe me, you know, speaking of massage and therapists and fucking."

"So make me pay up."

"Oh, I plan on it, Jimbo. I'm just waiting for the right opportunity to appear."

* * *

Sergeant Schultz, who was manning the desk down in Booking, broke out into a big grin when Blair returned from Interrogation Room Two minus Jim. And his shoes. And his socks. And his shirt.

Blair scowled at him. "What's so funny?"

Joe Schultz threw up his hands and said, in an exaggerated German accent, "I know nothing. Nothing." He laughed, and then added, "You're what's funny. That informant of Ellison's has a real jones for your belongings, doesn't he? I heard about another time he took your shoes in trade for information. He must have some good stuff this time, to get you to part with most of your clothes. You got any extra duds in your locker? Or does Ellison?"

Still scowling, Blair said, "No way am I going anywhere but right here. I know the story will get around, but I'm not adding fuel to the fire by showing up in the bullpen or anywhere else in the P.D. without most of my clothes and barefoot. Jim will finish up with Sneaks pretty soon, and then he's going to get the truck and pick me up right outside this door. So, Joe, buzz me on out, and I'll just take a seat on the bench and try to look inconspicuous. And when you tell this story – and I know you will – please add that I sacrificed my bowling shirt, my best striped socks, and my brand new, Shox BB4 Nikes, and man, they cost a _fortune_ , for the greater good of Cascade."

"'Sacrificed'? Blair, you got that bowling shirt at a thrift store or a yard sale since the name on the pocket said 'Charlie.' I guess Sneaks is into the retro look, right? But good luck on getting expenses to foot the bill on this one. Hey, 'foot the bill.' God, I crack myself up sometimes."

He chuckled; Blair didn't even smile.

"Foot the bill – you know, you just lost your shoes," Joe kept laughing even after he hit the buzzer and unlocked the door so that Blair could move into the small waiting area where family or friends could wait while their loved ones – or barely tolerated ones – were released back into the wild.

He sat down and crossed his arms over his chest. Jeez, he must look like a homeless guy who got rolled. The one remaining item of outer clothing he was wearing were his old, faded, ripped jeans. All of his better ones were in the laundry, and he hadn't counted on being down at the station today. He and Jim had been out goofing off, stopping at bookstores and the hardware store, and they still had the grocery and video store to go to when Jim had gotten the call that Sneaks had been picked up for harassing customers at a shoe store.

It wasn't bad enough that Sneaks had remembered him as Jim's partner, and that he had insisted Blair come into the interrogation room before he would give away any more information about the series of arson fires in the derelict warehouse areas near the docks. No, he'd apparently decided that Blair's wardrobe choices were exactly what he needed for his own attire. He'd practically drooled over Blair's brand new Nikes, and licked his lips when he fingered the bowling shirt. The cherry on top had been when Blair had taken off his shoes and exposed the wildly colored striped socks he'd been wearing. The end result was that Blair was half naked, Sneaks had cut a deal for the harassment charges to be dropped in exchange for all of the tantalizing intel about the arson cases he'd dangled in front of Jim, and Jim had better give him one hell of a blow job tonight.

Probably he could talk Simon into replacing his shoes. Probably. If there was any Karma at work here, it should be Jim who kept losing his shoes, but Jim's shoe size was too large for Sneaks. Size eight, his size, was just right.

Blair felt a little bit like the baby bear from Goldilocks, not that he was going to share that insight with Jim. He'd be called Blair-bear for the rest of the week if he did. He was so not going to give Jim any more ideas for pet names.

He closed his eyes and tried to talk himself into a better mood – after all, stopping this arsonist was worth a little teasing and financial loss – but he was having a hard time 'detaching with love' from his Shox BB4 Nikes. He was convinced that they did help him to jump higher when he was playing B-ball, and at his height, he'd take any help he could get.

A good while later, he heard a series of clicks near him and, a little startled, he opened his eyes to find that a guy – a little shorter than Jim, but probably about the same weight – was taking pictures of him. Great. Photographic evidence of today he did not need.

"Hey, man, what are you doing?" He strove to sound reasonable, but even to his own ears he sounded peeved.

The guy kept right on taking his picture and Blair stood up.

"Good, that's good. I like the pouty look. Keep working it, okay. The stubble is a nice touch, too. Really emphasizes your mouth. Hmmm. You're short, but I can work around that."

"Why the hell are you taking my picture? And you can stop anytime now." Blair put an edge to his voice, trying to get the message across that fun time was over.

The guy walked around to Blair's side and started humming and looking him up and down, ignoring Blair's question. At least he'd stopped using his camera. Something about it caught Blair's eye; it was one of those new digital cameras, and Blair was momentarily distracted from his annoyance.

"I don't have a clue why you're taking my picture, but uh, what type of digital camera are you using?"

The man smiled at him and then stepped close enough so that Blair could see the details on the camera himself. Hmmm. Cool.

"I've heard these babies are pretty expensive. And just why were you wasting it on me?"

"This one cost me almost six thousand dollars. It's a Nikon D-1, and I'm a professional photographer. I came down here to see if that idiot who was modeling for me was going to be cut loose, but he's been charged with a DUI, and that violated his parole, so he'll be staying here for quite some time."

The man touched some buttons on the camera and then turned it so Blair could see the image of himself. He looked a mess. His hair was everywhere and in serious need of a brush and, yeah, since he hadn't shaved this morning he looked a bit on the rough side.

The guy pushed some other buttons and showed Blair another shot, this one a close up of his face; his eyes were shut, and damn -- he did look like he was pouting like a five-year-old. Very mature. He made a resolution to try and work on that. Make that the focus of his meditations for the next week.

"The camera loves you, and I need a model for tomorrow and maybe the next day. You've got the look I want, and what I'll pay you will be more than you could make with any of your customers. And I assume you're going to need some cash to pay any court costs and expenses. All you have to do is show me some attitude, and I'll make that pout of yours look fine."

Blair said slowly, processing the guy's words, "You want me to model for you? Are you for real?"

"I said I'm a photographer, and I'm offering you a modeling gig. Surely a working boy like yourself wouldn't mind showing off his body." The guy fingered Blair's hair. "And maybe when the session is over, we can discuss other arrangements."

Blair took a step backward, hoping that Joe hadn't been listening to the conversation. That was all he needed, for another chapter to be added to the story about having to give up his shoes and clothes to Jim's informant. 'Hey, and then Sandburg was mistaken for a hooker, and this guy wanted to take pictures of him, probably porn for the Internet.' Sheesh.

He opened his mouth to decline the offer. He wasn't going to mention he was a cop. He wasn't exactly representing the P.D. in a professional way right now. Let this guy continue to think he was a prostitute; he'd never see him again anyway.

"Hey, Curly. C'mere," Joe bellowed out into the waiting room.

Joe always called him Sandburg or Blair. He never used nicknames; Blair started to feel his Spidey-sense tingling.

The photographer was clicking through the pictures he'd taken, but he paused when Blair started to head to the desk. "Take care of your business, kid. I'll wait."

Blair raised his shoulders in a question when he eyeballed Joe through the protective screen. Joe told him gruffly that a detective needed to ask him a couple more questions and that it shouldn't take but a few minutes. He hit the button and unlocked the door and started down the hall, waving Blair to follow him; another cop took Joe's place at the desk.

Blair caught up to Joe and asked in a low tone, "Okay, Doc. What's up?" Blair was thoroughly baffled by now, but Joe didn't answer him. Instead, he pushed open an office door and they ducked inside.

"Listen, Sandburg. I always run the names of people who come in here wanting to pass along messages to inmates or to pick up somebody. It's amazing how many dumb-asses I've caught that way because they've got warrants out on them. The guy who's been taking your picture, I can't arrest him, but his name is flagged. He's under investigation, both him and his brother, on charges relating to fraud, identity theft, and forgery. I heard what he said to you – I always keep an ear open in case some douche-bag spills something useful – and I'm sure that Daniel Kim would jump at the chance to have you go undercover on his case. What d'ya say? You want in?" He started to punch Blair on his shoulder, but caught himself. Blair wondered if it was because of having to touch his bare shoulder; maybe that was a little more personal than Sergeant Schultz wanted to get with him. He punched Joe on his shoulder instead.

"If Banks okays it, and Kim wants me to give this a shot, I'll do it. I'll call Banks, you call Kim. I don't want to leave Mr. Professional Photographer out there too long; he might decide I'm not so photogenic after all and take off."

Joe shook his head. "From the way he was eying you, he'll wait." They made their phone calls then, and Simon allowed that he could spare Blair for a few days. Kim did jump at the chance to get a break on this case, since it'd been stalled for quite some time, and arranged to meet Blair early in the morning over in Fraud and give him background information on John and Michael Pinkerton, inheritors of a family printing business with a suspected specialty in forging ID's, passports, and birth certificates.

Blair didn't have time to explain the new developments to Jim, who was still tied up with Sneaks. 'Well,' he thought wryly, 'the ride home ought to be interesting.'

He was let back out into the waiting area, and he decided to play a little hard-to-get. If he was too eager, Michael Pinkerton might smell a rat.

He walked right past Pinkerton and pushed open the door to the street. He leaned against the building, one bare foot pushing against the wall, and tried to recapture the sulky mood he'd been in when his picture was being taken.

Pinkerton followed him out scant seconds later. He faced Blair, invading his personal space, and placed both of his hands flat against the wall, right next to Blair's face.

"I gave you a job offer. A kid like you could always use some extra work, right? And if the proofs turn out as good as I think they're going to, I could use you again and again."

Blair looked up at him, and decided to let the guy think that this little domination scene was getting to him. Ha. As if. But he let his eyes sink down and chewed his lip a little.

He wasn't prepared for Pinkerton to take a finger and stop Blair's teeth from worrying his bottom lip. And then the guy had the nerve to trace Blair's mouth, twice, before dropping his hand.

"You don't want to make those lips sore, baby. I've got plans for them. I'm going to make your 'fuck me' mouth famous."

Blair let his eyebrows question that statement. "You really serious about giving me dough for letting you take pictures of me? What? Is it like, porn?" If he was going to have to take off his clothes, he wanted to know about it ahead of time. So he could schedule his panic attack, of course.

But what he'd said had pissed off Pinkerton, judging from the way his eyes narrowed and how he stared at Blair. "No. I'm not into porn. This is _art_ I'm doing. I'm going to enter these photos in the Cascade summer art show, although, I might try and sell some shots freelance to some magazines. Yeah, I'm going to make you look like sex on a stick, baby. But you can keep some of your clothes on."

He cupped Blair's check. "Have you done porn? Been fucked in front of a camera? You'd be a star, I'm not saying you wouldn't look good with your pretty mouth sucking on a cock, but I'm a professional photographer, and I'm not going to cheapen my art with porn."

He added, with a leer in his voice, "I'm going to pay you good money just to take your picture, but if you want to make arrangements afterwards, I'll let you suck my cock. Up to you, sweetheart." He licked his own lips and Blair wanted to push past him, get some space between them. He didn't. He was a cop, and he needed to stay in character. Kind of a loser, street guy, rent boy type of character, apparently, but he could do this.

Pinkerton rocked his hips against Blair, another domination tactic. "So, kid, you want a job? I'd rather use you than a pro."

Blair let his face reflect his submission and nodded. "Yeah, okay, I'm in. Where do I go? And I'm, uh, busy, you know, tomorrow morning. Is the afternoon okay?"

Pinkerton stepped away from him, a satisfied smirk on his face. He dug out his wallet and gave Blair a business card. "Meet me at one. And don't do anything that's going to get you bruises. Not for this time." He ran his hand through Blair's hair. "God, I love this look on you. But we'll experiment around. And I think you'd look hot with some eyeliner, and some eye shadow, and something to showcase your mouth. Lip liner, lip gloss, a touch of gender bending..."

He bent then and pulled Blair closer to him and kissed him on the mouth. And Blair had to let him. He hadn't kissed anybody but Jim since the night Jim and he had finally become lovers. He'd posed as a massage therapist for another undercover case, so that he could ground Jim with his touch while Jim searched with his hearing to gain evidence for a bust. He had ended up giving Jim a hand job while they were spied on by the other goons. Later that same night had been the first time they'd made love together. And now he and Jim were exclusive. Holy crap, Jim was going to go ape-shit when he smelled another man on Blair's body.

He couldn't let that matter right now. He had to stay in the moment, stay focused. He kissed Michael Pinkerton back with all of his skill, and told himself that it didn't count; it didn't count.

Pinkerton pulled away, leaving Blair feeling a little dazed, not with passion, although Pinkerton probably thought so, judging from the satisfied sounding laugh Blair was hearing as the guy walked away.

No, he was reeling a little bit because things had been going so good with Jim, and oh, God, he hoped this wasn't going to fuck things up between them.

He was still leaning against the building, feeling more and more like he was a loser, as people walked by, some eying him with amusement, some with disdain, and some with interest, but he tried to just fade into the background. He was waiting for Jim. He'd been waiting his whole life for Jim.

When he finally saw Jim's truck pulling up in front of him, he pushed away from the safety of the wall, and climbed into the truck.

* * *

"Uh, Jim..." Somehow he was feeling like the truck was closing in around him.

Jim reached over and patted Blair on his shoulder. Okay. Blair knew that was Jim shorthand for everything was going to be fine.

Jim turned left onto West Dock Street and said thoughtfully, "Joe Shultz filled me in, Chief. I've already cleared it with Simon to add myself to this little detail. Kim will just have to like it or lump it. Fitting you with a wire would be tricky, since you might have to strip mostly out of your clothes. I don't think it would be useful anyway, since why would Pinkerton start blabbing to you about his identity theft side business. You're his model, not his customer. But I need to know that if this scheme goes south, you've got a safety net. And that would be me."

Jim sounded reasonable, but his body language was telling another story. Blair recognized the signs: Jim was thrusting his jaw out, and he looked tense. If Blair touched Jim's neck he knew it would feel hard as a rock.

'Oh, boy,' he thought. "Jim, relax. I'm not going to give anything away to make him think I'm a cop. And he approached me; he's got me tagged as a hooker, and he's going to underestimate me because of that. I'm meeting him at his printing shop, not his home. They'll be customers around, so he can't get too weird with me."

Jim raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything, so Blair kept right on babbling. He tended to do that when he was nervous, and he knew it was a tell but he couldn't seem to knock it off.

"He must have a room he uses for photography. I'm not going to snoop around too much – I don't want to blow any evidence that's found because I didn't have a search warrant. I'll just use what I can hear and what I can see in plain hearing and sight and pass it along to Kim. Once he's got enough for a warrant, my part will be done. In the meantime, I'll probably blend in like wallpaper; he must use models fairly often. The guy thinks I'm photogenic, who knows why, and I'll try to act dumb. I won't give him any reason to think I'm anything but a down-on-his-luck guy willing to get his picture took. And he says he's not into making porn, so I won't have to do anything except pose – with clothes on."

Jim sped up the truck – never a good sign. "Look, Blair. I can smell his touch on you. And I can tell he kissed you. Your lips get a little more swollen... shit, I could always tell when you'd been kissed. But I didn't have the right to object before. And I get that this isn't something you asked for, that it's too good an opportunity to let slide by, but damn it. I don't like it."

Blair laid his hand on Jim's thigh and squeezed. Hard. "I don't like it either. But I'm not going to screw him, no matter what he wants. So, let's just go home, and I'll wash him off of me and let's just fuck each other silly, all right?" Blair moved his hand up to Jim's cock and pressed his palm against it, feeling it swell under his hand. "Maybe I'll suck you, okay? And you can use your dick on my mouth like a tube of lipstick. I know you love to do that."

Blair reluctantly moved his hand from Jim's groin. Jim made a sound of regret, but didn't protest against Blair's actions. After a while, Jim relaxed, and slowed the truck down – a little. Good. Jim was only at hurrying-to-get-home speed now, not pressing-my-anger-and-frustration-through-the-gas-pedal speed.

"I know why, Blair."

"Huh?" Blair had been letting his thoughts roam ahead, seeing himself spread out on Jim's sunny yellow sheets, licking his lips, waiting for Jim to finish folding his clothes and join him in bed. Jim's statement had jarred him out of that pleasant daydream, and he smiled and shook his head at incorporating Jim folding up his clothes into his sexy vision. Funny how witnessing Jim being his usual anal-retentive self had become such a turn on.

"Why Pinkerton wants you for a model. You're beautiful, Blair. I know you don't see that in yourself, but it's true."

Blair lightly punched Jim on the shoulder. "God, you're such a sap, Ellison. And maybe we should check your vision. Sounds like it might be slipping."

But he knew he was smiling anyway.

* * *

Blair looked at the clothes he had dumped on their freshly made bed. After last night, the sheets they'd slept on had been only good for the laundry. And Christ, they needed to get going. Kim was meeting them at eight thirty this morning to brief them on the case and work out the surveillance. And aside from the ratty jeans he'd worn yesterday, and intended to wear again this afternoon, he didn't see anything that particularly shouted out 'rent-boy' to him. He did have a pair of scruffy sandals, but his flannel shirts and Henleys just were typical Washington attire for a guy his age. Maybe a T-shirt? Or a white sleeveless undershirt? Man, he hated it when people called them 'wife-beaters'; how totally uncool and male power-based was that nickname?

"Sandburg? We're leaving in ten. Do you want another cup of coffee before I turn the machine off?" Jim shouted up to him.

"I don't know what shirt to wear for this afternoon," he quietly said back. No need to strain his vocal cords when Jim had the super-duper hearing. "Hey, bring me some coffee and give me your opinion, okay?"

Jim showed up two minutes later, shoved a mug into Blair's hands and then eyed Blair's clothes. He grabbed a plain black T-shirt and then went to the closet, returning with a pair of scissors. He cut off the sleeves and a good part of the length, and then tossed it to Blair.

"Try it on. It should be short enough to show your belly and make it easy for a john to reach under and twist your nipples. Wear your nipple ring... bring along some bracelets and necklaces. Oh, and your earrings."

While Blair dutifully took off the red Henley he'd planned to wear today and exchanged it for the hacked up shirt, Jim rummaged around in the closet again, coming back with one of Blair's belts, the one he'd been given as a gag gift from Janey during a Christmas exchange years ago at Rainier. The buckle was yellow and red, with a large S.

"Wear the Superman buckle, it looks kind of funky and that's going to be your look. You couldn't pull off preppy or goth, or sophisticated, not with how you were dressed yesterday. But funky -- yeah, that'll work."

Blair looked at himself in the mirror on the inside of the closet door. He thought he looked like a goof by wearing the mutilated black shirt, but Jim nodded in approval, and then turned him around and kissed him breathless.

"Come on, pack up. Time to go."

* * *

Jim and Blair were directed to meet with Detective Daniel Kim in an empty interrogation room on the third floor. They had just sat down on the uncomfortable hard steel chairs when Kim, mid fifties with a paunch that jiggled over his belt line, joined them, setting down files on the table. They stood up, and waited for Kim to take the initiative.

The guy was quick to offer his hand to Jim and added that he was happy to have the additional help. Jim did a quick lie detector test sentinel style during the handshake and decided Kim was being honest.

Then Jim watched as Kim ran a hand through short black and gray hair and turned his attention to Blair, giving him a long assessing look. Blair met it steadily and Jim wondered if Kim was remembering the gossip about the dissertation mess. Blair, officially still at a uniform's pay grade but at Major Crime's beck and call, had more than proved himself an effective cop, but Jim knew there was still an undercurrent of suspicion about Blair. He was... different from a lot of cops, but to Jim that was a strength. Blair thought outside of the box, and his training as an anthropologist allowed him insights that often helped to close a case. Plus he was just naturally empathetic, and was amazingly good at encouraging witnesses and victims to cooperate.

Although he could and did project enough menace to break perps when it was needed. That empathy of his was a two-edged sword – he could read the bad guys and use it as a tool against them as well as he could perceive the feelings of witnesses and victims and lend them strength.

Apparently Blair had passed Kim's little test because the guy held out his hand to Blair and smiled at him. Blair shook it firmly, and then they all settled at the table.

"Officer Sandburg, it appears you were in the right place at the right time yesterday. Let's hope that you can find us something we can use to justify a warrant so we can close this shop down." He passed Jim and Blair each a file. "And before you get started on reading, let's go over procedure, okay? I do not want this case tossed out of court because we fucked up the evidence. You can't go snooping into drawers or digging into closets, or the warrant we obtain is useless. You understand all of this, Officer Sandburg?"

"Just Sandburg or Blair is fine, Detective Kim. I'm not much for formality. And yes, I understand my limitations. I'll stick to what evidence is in plain sight and hearing; I won't go off half-cocked and blow the case." Blair spoke with sincerity in his voice; Kim gave him a small nod and indicated the files.

"Get familiar with that information, then we'll talk about your questions and how the surveillance is going to be handled. I'm going to get some coffee; do you guys want any?"

Jim answered him. "Yeah, that'll be great," and went back to reading.

"Sandburg?"

"Ah, right, me too. A cup of break-room sludge is just what I need."

Kim left, and for a long moment Jim watched Blair reading. He looked so studious right now, his long hair pulled back, glasses sliding a little down his nose, wearing his red Henley and green and black checked flannel shirt. Kim probably wondered what Michael Pinkerton had gotten so hot and bothered about yesterday, insisting that Blair model for him.

Jim selfishly liked it that sometimes other people missed how downright sexy Blair was, if he was in his boy next door, or nerdy student persona. Cute, sure. Even the criminals usually thought Blair was cute. He'd overheard enough comments to come to that conclusion.

But Blair could just smolder with sexuality, if he allowed himself to be that way, and Pinkerton might be a grade A number one lawbreaker, but he'd seen that quality in Blair and wanted to enhance it.

Guess Pinkerton really was an artist at heart. Jim wondered if he could get his hands on any photos that were made. He'd like that, actually. But he knew himself well enough to know that it was going to be tormenting to listen to Pinkerton talk to Blair and position him, running his hands over Blair's mostly bare body, touching Blair's mouth, _kissing_ those pouty lips, because the guy had had a taste yesterday and Jim knew he'd be wanting more...

A warm hand grasped his arm. Blair cocked a look at him, one that was plainly asking if he was okay.

Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly, like Blair had taught him, and nodded his head.

"Let's get to work, Junior. And I don't like you being in this position, but I know you can handle yourself. But if the shit hits the fan, I'll be right there. And that's a promise, partner."

* * *

Blair got off the bus a block from Pinkerton's Printing and slowly walked down the street, trying to slip into the head-space he was going to need to pull this off. His name was Jacob because it was easier to respond to his middle name than to a completely different one. He'd had a run of bad luck. He'd lost his job, had been kicked out of his apartment by his now ex-lover, was in debt and had been floating between 'friends' for a while now, sleeping on their couches or in their beds, paying his way with helping with odd chores or with his body. Lately, he'd started hanging out on the street, swapping blow jobs for cash. He smoked pot, well, other people's pot, and would gladly suck down a cold beer if offered one, but he'd passed so far on using crack and meth, or heroin and methadone. He was convinced that his problems were temporary and that someday he'd be back to work and have a place of his own again. Not that anybody was hiring right now, and since he'd never finished high school a lot of jobs were out of his reach.

He thought that life had treated him unfairly, and had trouble seeing where shirking his own responsibilities had landed him worse off. He'd been picked up by the cops for Public Intoxication – a dirty lie, he'd just been drinking a beer a buddy had tossed to him while he was hanging around down on Twelfth and Railroad St., waiting to see if somebody wanted him to suck them off. He hadn't been drunk, but they'd pulled his ass in anyway. At least the breathalyzer test had backed up his story, but he'd still been charged with having an open container. He'd been sweated a little, to see if he had any information on drug dealers but he'd kept his mouth shut, and they couldn't find any other charges. Court fines were in his future, so he was glad to be making some extra dough just by looking at a camera.

He paused in front of the glass door of Pinkerton's Printing. He could see his reflection – the beat up sandals, the sleeveless short black T-shirt, his bare arms that were loaded down with bracelets at the wrists, the practically threadbare jeans, and his hair loose with his earrings glinting through the curls. His belt with its brightly colored buckle hung low on his hips, and his navel was exposed. All right, then. Showtime. He licked his lips, and pushed open the door.

* * *

Jim parked his truck down the opposite side of the street from the print store and watched as his partner entered the ordinary looking shop. Blair had strict instructions to come outside for a "cigarette break" every forty-five to sixty minutes. If he smoked with his right hand, then things were all right. If he used his left hand to take a drag, or was late coming outside, then Jim would go in as a customer, and check out what the problem was.

Of course, he actually planned on dialing up his sense of hearing so that he would know exactly what was happening with Blair and that leech of a photographer. But Johnson, the other cop on this stakeout, didn't know about that; he was across the street near the alley, watching the store from his car.

Jim slid down in the seat and angled his ball cap down so that it would appear to any passerby that he was taking a nap.

He listened as Michael Pinkerton spoke to Blair in a smug and pleased tone of voice. He spelled out the terms for the afternoon's session, and Jim gritted his teeth when he realized from what he was overhearing that Pinkerton was laying his hands on Blair, stroking his belly, rubbing Blair's nipples into hard little peaks, and then dropping his hands lower, running his hands over Blair's ass and cupping his balls through the thin fabric of Blair's worn jeans. The man was doing a damn commentary on what he found attractive about Blair – and he had an extensive vocabulary.

And Blair was letting him do those things, and while Jim knew, _understood_ that, of course, it didn't mean anything, it was just the fucking _job_ , it was so damn hard not to get out of his truck, stride into that back room where Pinkerton was now posing Blair, and punch the photographer's lights out and pull Blair to him and in general act like a possessive asshole by branding him with Jim's own touch; Jim's hard hands would clutch and tighten on Blair's beautiful honey-colored skin, and he would seek out all those sweet places on Blair's body, sucking and licking and tonguing, until Blair had forgotten human speech and was crying out to him for mercy in the language of creation, a fallen angel descending so deep into pleasure that when he finally shattered, healing slumber would be demanded by that radiant and exhausted body.

Jim took deep breaths and unfurled his closed fists. God, this was going to be a long afternoon.

* * *

Blair leaned against the outside wall of the shop on his fifth break and took a pretend drag on his cigarette with his right hand. Jesus, he hoped this endless afternoon would net him something he could use for the case; he really didn't want to have to come back for another session, although Michael had already booked him for tomorrow afternoon. Michael – after having had the guy's hands all over him today, last names seemed a tad formal – Michael had been very, very thorough. He seemed especially fascinated by Blair's mouth. He kept touching Blair's lips and making him slowly lick them and pose in a pout as he snapped photo after photo, exchanging cameras like a rock star ripping through fawning groupies.

Blair kept up the pretense of smoking. He'd be out here for a few more minutes before going back inside. Back to being a sometime rent boy and novice model.

He didn't want to think about how Jim had been listening to him and Michael. But knowing Jim was aware of everything going on in that studio was always in the back of his own head.

God, it had to be pure torment for Jim, and yeah, Blair had been looking for an opportunity for some payback after that business with being Jim's pretend massage therapist and Jim putting him in the position of actually giving Jim a hand job while undercover. A hand job that had been observed through the camera by the other goons at that fortress of a house, and which had given them the bright idea that Blair could do some servicing of their needs as well as being Jim's boy-toy for the day. Jim had gone all selfishly caveman on them, and told them to get their own therapists, which had given Blair the opportunity to set up Rafe and Megan to come in and help bust the operation.

But this wasn't how he had wanted to get even. This wasn't mischievous and fun. He felt sick knowing Jim was aware of every word breathed into Blair's ear, of every touch on his skin. Of every kiss Michael had pressed against Blair's mouth, wanting his lips to look swollen and wanton for the camera.

Michael had pressured him for sex after the afternoon's shoot was finally over, but Blair had told him he already had plans to meet a friend. He'd let Michael worm it out of him that the 'friend' wasn't really a friend, but a guy who he had sex with sometimes in exchange for some cash and pot.

Michael then wanted him to commit to a 'date' with him, after tomorrow's session ended. So far, he'd stalled. But he really didn't want to have to come back tomorrow. And unless he could locate a weak spot in Michael's forgery business, it looked like that would be exactly what he'd be doing the next day.

He had been able to look around a bit, when Michael had customers for his printing business that the girl at the counter couldn't handle. He'd snooped, within the limits discussed with Kim.

The most telling evidence was the array of old typewriters and paper listed by year on organized shelves. Forging authentic looking birth certificates meant using the technology of the year of the client's birth and aged paper. Typewriters could be identified by the distinctive marks they left on documents. If they could tie in the typewriters with a forged document, it would be corroborating evidence for a conviction.

'Hey,' he silently beseeched any listening gods. 'I've already sacrificed my new Nikes this week. Couldn't you guys see your way clear to sending one little client in need of forged documents while I'm hanging around here? Please? For Jim's sake, because, honestly, I don't know how long he's going to be able to stand listening to me getting mauled around. That vein in his forehead is probably doing calisthenics and I just bet he's grinding his teeth. So, please, I'm asking the universe for some help here. Please?'

He threw down his cigarette butt with a half guilty promise to come back and pick them all up later, and whispered, "Sorry, Jim," before walking the few steps back to the door and letting 'Jacob' settle back on him, like a well-worn, torn-up, stain-splattered T-shirt.

* * *

Jim put down his cell phone and sighed. He'd just gotten confirmation that another warehouse was going to be torched tonight. He'd be leaving for the stakeout as soon as he could pick up Blair and drop him off at the loft. Shouldn't be long now, it was after six and he was listening to Blair being handed his pay for the day. Correction. Pinkerton only turned over a ten, with a promise of a bonus for coming back tomorrow. The guy wasn't stupid; handing anything bigger over to his street-angel model probably meant a no-show for tomorrow's session. 'Jacob' would probably get way too drunk and stoned and sleep the day away, if he got his hands on any real money. His partner was bitching about not getting all his cash, but Pinkerton laughed at him, telling him he'd just have to make do with the money he made on his 'date' tonight.

From the sound of things, he gave Blair another kiss and a swat on the ass to send him on his way. Blair emerged from the store, and started walking down the street to a bus stop. He was going to ride to the next stop and get off and Jim would meet him there.

He called over to Johnson, arranging to meet back here tomorrow at two o'clock, since Blair was supposed to show up around 2:30pm. Feeling tired, he rubbed his hands over his face, trying to massage away the tension he'd felt all afternoon since he would be subjected to his guide's scrutiny fairly soon. God, he wanted nothing more than to hustle Blair into the shower at home and scrub him clean of Pinkerton's touches – now that would be some major stress relief. But that wasn't going to happen, not with the arsonist making his move this evening. He didn't know if he'd even make it home tonight. But there was no reason Blair couldn't go home and relax, drop his undercover persona and rest up for tomorrow. Jim had been undercover plenty of times; it was a draining experience, physically and mentally, and he wanted Blair alert for tomorrow's modeling session. He knew that Blair would yammer about needing to be with Jim on the arson case, but Jim was the senior partner and he intended to pull rank.

He was still listening to Pinkerton on autopilot, getting ready to start the truck, when he tuned into a phone conversation between Pinkerton and a customer regarding a special order. A customer who had been referred by 'a very satisfied former client.' Pinkerton gave him an appointment time for tomorrow morning, 8:30 am and cut off the man's attempts to explain what his special order entailed.

'Jackpot,' Jim thought. This sounded like a transaction for forged ID documents. It was a shame they didn't have enough on Pinkerton yet to get a wiretap. But even if Blair had been there during the phone call and had overheard Pinkerton setting up the appointment, it was too cryptic to have any use as evidence. Jim would be back in the morning, though and maybe he could get some leads, even If they wouldn't be of any use legally.

He started the truck and pulled out, since Blair had climbed on the bus a moment ago. When these two cases were finally closed, he was going to hit Simon up for a few days off for himself and Blair. Some well deserved time off. Maybe go camping. Or call Rucker about going back out to the island for a few days.

He just wanted to get out of Dodge for a while, and take his lover with him. Even Sentinels deserved a vacation now and then.

* * *

"I don't give a rat's ass if you are the senior partner, Jim. I'm staying with you, okay? I can catnap in the truck; you might need me and just how much rest do you think I'd be getting at home, knowing that you're out here trying to catch an arsonist? Don't make me call Simon, Jim. You know I'll do it, if I have to."

Jim tried to glare at his damned pushy partner, who had his arms crossed over that slutty black T-shirt and who was winning the staring contest currently going on between them as Jim drove towards the loft, but his heart wasn't really in it. Truthfully, he craved contact with Blair in the worst way after an afternoon of listening to Pinkerton manhandling his lover.

"Crap. Okay, okay, you can stay. But you've got to wash up and change clothes. I can smell that S.O.B. on you, and it's interfering with my concentration." Jim turned left and headed toward the warehouse that Sneaks' information had confirmed was the target tonight. "I'll stop at a gas station and you can change back into your clothes from this morning. And use plenty of soap, all right? When I kiss you, I'd better not catch his scent or I'm liable to strip you and wrap myself around you to drown out his stink."

Blair blinked, his mouth shaping a perfect 'O', and Jim smelled the heady scent that told him Blair was aroused. He felt a smug satisfaction that for all the touching Pinkerton had done today, none of it had elicited that reaction from Blair. There was always a trace left of arousal scent, he'd found. But Blair had been free of it before now.

He pulled into a Shell station and while Blair went to change clothes, he filled the tank, bought them food, and filled a thermos with strong coffee to tide them over during the stakeout. Gas station food and coffee – God knows they were practically a necessity in a cop's life.

Blair returned, face damp, and smelling like soap from the men's room, back in his Henley and flannel shirt from this morning, minus his jewelry. Jim was waiting for him by the passenger door, and dropped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him close. They hugged; Blair would probably tell him that he was letting go of negative vibes, but whatever it was called, feeling Blair's compact, strong body helped him feel like himself again. He felt good, and ready to go kick some criminal ass.

Blair pulled away and lightly punched him on the shoulder. "Hey, let's get going. And I've been thinking about that appointment you overheard being set up for tomorrow morning, and how to handle Pinkerton. I'll explain on the way to the warehouse.

* * *

Damn. It was almost three in the morning. Looking through the truck window, Jim once again surveyed the dilapidated buildings in this mostly abandoned area close to the docks. He took another slow sip of his coffee, watching for the moment the arsonist would finally show up at this wretched warehouse, and thought that all those TV cop shows missed the boat about police work. So much of it was deadening, boring, but that same routine action you'd done a thousand times – such as pulling over a motorist and giving them a speeding ticket -- could turn on you in an instant, and if it caught you off guard because you weren't fucking paying attention, you could get yourself killed in a heartbeat. Or your partner.

Blair had accompanied Jim on plenty of stakeouts when he was still just an observer. He'd helped keep Jim sharp, keep him focused when his senses had been more likely to get out of control. Then and now, he'd had Jim's back, and tomorrow, when they went with Blair's scheme at the printing shop, Jim would have Blair's back.

Blair reached over, took Jim's coffee out of his hand and took a long slurp of it. "Okay, you've heard me out for the third time about tomorrow. Are you cool with it, Jim? Anything to add to the plan? It'll put me in the position of overhearing the arrangements between Michael and his customer and get us a lot closer to getting that warrant."

"I'll be there and listening to you the whole time, Chief. But let's call Kim and see if he can arrange backup for us in the morning. Johnson won't be there till the afternoon. And if this firebug doesn't show soon, you should try and get a little rest. You can play act being tired when you show up on Pinkerton's doorstop tomorrow morning, but if you're really exhausted your reflexes will be slowed. And I need you sharp. Pinkerton has a lot to lose and if he thinks you're a witness... you be careful, okay?"

Blair nodded and grabbed Jim's hand for a moment, and squeezed it hard in answer to Jim's concern. Taking advantage since he was extra grounded right now, Jim extended his sense of hearing and heard a truck cut its engine several blocks away. He listened to the driver mutter to himself about accelerants and slow fuses. Bingo.

"He's here, Chief. Let the team inside know he's on his way. I'm going to keep tabs on him, make sure he doesn't get spooked off."

The rest of the operation went like clockwork. The inside team let the bastard walk in and start to unload his duffel bag of supplies before announcing they were the police and for him to lie down on the ground. The stupid son of bitch tried to run then, but Jim and Blair nailed his ass as he burst out the door.

Blair allowed to Jim, after the guy's rights had been read and he was on his way to booking, that losing his shoes had been worth the look on the arsonist's face when he realized he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"But I'm still going to pester Simon to replace my Nikes."

"Best of luck on that, Chief. C'mon, Let's go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow's a busy day for rent boy models."

Blair yawned. "I'm so down with that, man."

* * *

Blair knew he had to look like a homeless bum again, since he was sitting on the sidewalk with his knees tucked up to his chin, arms wrapped around his calves, and his head lolling back against the brick wall of the printing shop. He was trying to give the impression he was dozing off, and truthfully, he was this close to actually falling asleep on the street.

He was wearing yesterday's skimpy clothes, which didn't include a jacket, and he kept shivering since it was cool and drizzly out in the early morning hours, and a bit foggy. Typical Cascade weather and while he wasn't exactly dripping wet, he was more than damp. Man, his hair was going to be totally out of control. Jim, who fancied himself a funny kind of guy, had made some remarks on the drive over about poodles having less curls, and if Blair had been even the slightest bit more awake, he would have come back with some zinger. Maybe he should have said that it was better to have poodle hair than no hair. Yeah. He totally should have thrown that back at Jim instead of giving him the glare of death warmed over, since yawning in the middle of it had pretty much spoiled the effect.

Sidewalk traffic was picking up now, and if he squinted he could read the time on the bank sign down the street. It was a quarter to eight, and he'd been here since seven. It was all part of his cover, to look like he had no other option than to plead for some shelter from Michael. Jim said he'd bet his next paycheck that Pinkerton would take one look at the waif on his doorstep and agree he could find a place to sleep somewhere tucked away from the front of the shop.

There was a couch in a back room that Blair had spotted yesterday and if he could talk Michael into letting him crash on it, then he could eavesdrop on the transaction for forged ID documents that Jim had overheard being set up yesterday evening. That wouldn't net them the search warrant they needed, because it wasn't in plain sight and hearing, but if he knew for sure that the customer asked for forged documents then Kim's men could tail the customer. Find some kind of leverage on him, get him to roll over on the Pinkertons. Bust Michael Pinkerton, and maybe his brother, when the forged ID was handed over to the customer or, more likely, to a cop that would claim to be there in place of the customer.

He closed his eyes, and maybe, just maybe, he did drift off for a moment – kind of hard to believe he could do that in the drizzle, but he must have because somebody was leaning over him and shaking his arm, and he never noticed them walking up to him. His eyes flew open and Michael was frowning down at him.

"Jacob. What the hell are you doing here?" Pinkerton didn't sound at all concerned about his model's well being to Blair. He sounded kind of pissed. Maybe Jim made the wrong call on that non-existent bet of his.

Blair started to stand up and Michael, who had not relinquished his arm, pretty much lifted him till he was standing on his two cold feet – sandals did nothing to keep his feet warm.

"Umm..." Crap. If he was being himself, Blair Sandburg, confident and blessed with the ability to talk a mile a minute, he'd already be doing his best to sway his target into agreeing that he could crash this party.

But he kind of was Jacob right now, and Jacob wasn't very assertive. Jacob lived on the edge of hopelessness, and the quicker he made the pitch to hide out here and get some sleep, the sooner he'd probably get booted out, just like he'd gotten booted out last night after that so-called buddy he'd had a 'date' with had gotten his own rocks off, and then stiffed Jacob.

Michael sighed. "Kid. You can't clutter up my doorway. You're going to bring down the property values." He looked Blair up and down and frowned; his hand moved to Blair's cheek and cupped it. "What's the matter, baby? You're freezing." He moved his hand and tapped his finger on the tip of Blair's nose. "I don't have time to play with you or have you pose till this afternoon. My brother will be in then and I'll have a break for a couple of hours. Why don't you skedaddle till then?"

Blair swallowed hard and tried to speak again, but his throat was kind of closing up, and he reached out and grabbed at Michael's hand. He could feel his eyes widening, and he didn't have to force a panicked look on his face.

"I, uh... uh," he stammered.

Michael sighed again, but then he pulled Blair to him and wrapped his arms around him and squeezed him hard. "You're a cuddly little thing, aren't you? I suppose you've got a sob story to tell me, since you're in yesterday's clothes and cold as a popsicle. It's lucky for you that I'm a soft touch."

He grinned down at Blair. "Baby, why don't you help me out, since my arms are busy." He tightened his arms a little more around Blair, almost squashing Blair's face into his neck. "Reach into my pockets and find my keys. Think of it as a little treasure hunt. Hurry now. It's time to open up for business and I need to figure out what to do with you."

* * *

Michael had walked him into the tiny kitchenette and pushed him down into a chair. He started a pot of coffee, and then leaned back against the sink, holding an empty mug.

"Okay, kid. Spill. What happened and what do you want, besides your pay from yesterday, which you won't see until after you're done posing for me this afternoon."

Blair took a deep breath and tentatively offered the bait.

"See, uh, Michael. Things kind of... like... didn't work out yesterday evening, and where I was staying? Those guys won't let me back in until I bring back some cash. But I can't do that until they get home tonight. And that guy I was with last night, he turned out to be a total prick. He wouldn't pay me, and... and, anyway... Can I stay here for the day? Catch some sleep? Because I'm really tired; I won't get in your way, promise. If you don't want me to sleep on the couch, I could sleep on the floor. I've done it before."

Blair started shivering again, maybe because he no longer had the benefit of Michael's body heat to warm him.

"Christ. I shouldn't... But you're such a cute little puppy. Here." He set down his coffee cup on the small kitchen table and, leaning over, pulled the wet black T-shirt right off Blair. "Oh ho, what's this?" He touched a couple of hickeys Jim had planted on his right shoulder and collarbone last night. Jim had been a bit on the territorial side after he'd climbed on top of Blair in bed. "That from the 'friend' you entertained last night? What else did you do for him, baby?" He used his index finger to slowly outline Blair's lips. God, the guy must have a fetish for touching Blair's mouth. "Did you suck his cock, Sugar Lips?"

Blair shrugged and wrapped his arms around his bare chest. Normally, he'd have told him to fuck off, but Jacob was adrift and wouldn't dare rock the boat. He answered Michael softly. "Yeah, I did."

"You must not have done it very well, if he refused to pay you. I could give you some lessons, teach you exactly how to please me and any other customer, make you swirl your tongue over my slit and send me to heaven. Would you like that, baby? We could play school. I'll be your teacher and you'll be my student who needs some extra special tutoring."

Blair shivered again, and Michael laughed smugly, apparently thinking the shudders were from his porn talk, not Blair still feeling chilled from the damp. But then Michael pulled off his own dark blue Irish fisherman sweater, leaving him in a pale green, long sleeved shirt, and tugged it down over Blair's head. Blair pulled his own arms through before Michael decided to treat him like he really was a baby and do it for him.

Michael poured himself a mug of coffee and dumped a little sugar in it. "Okay. No coffee for you right now, you can have some when you wake up. Are you hungry? Yeah, you must be." He opened the cupboard over the sink and took out three granola bars from a box. He tossed them to Blair, and motioned for him to stand up. He drank his coffee and then planted his hand around Blair's right bicep.

"C'mon, baby, I'm going to put you to bed, and I don't expect a peep out of you, understand. Don't make me regret cutting you a break. And after our session this afternoon, I think I'm going to take you home with me. I've got a playroom for little boys like you. I think I'm going to make you teacher's pet."

* * *

Blair kept pinching himself to stay awake. The couch wasn't that comfortable, but he was warm, finally, thanks to an afghan and a spare coat Michael had thrown over him. His ratty jeans were on the floor, along with his T-shirt, leaving him in worn out boxers and Michael's sweater.

He was listening intently for the forged ID customer to show up. So was Jim, he knew, but it would be Blair's testimony that hopefully would lead to a legal breakthrough. God, he hoped this could wrap up today; he couldn't go home with Michael, there wouldn't be any way of avoiding sexual contact if he did. Michael had pawed at him enough already, and Blair had his suspicions about the playroom at Michael's house that he'd mentioned. He absolutely didn't want a tour of the place.

Maybe if he wasn't so sleepy he could come up with a way of dodging giving the guy a blow job, because really – Did. Not. Want.

Maybe Jim could arrest Blair, or something. Hmmm. He'd think about that plan.

He heard the front door open, thanks to the bell at the top of it, and he pushed away the covers and quietly moved over to the door. He could hear Michael's voice and that of another man, and then the voices got louder as they came down the hallway.

Michael was taking this man back to his studio area. Blair had noticed the other room back there with a computer and typewriters when he'd poked around yesterday. He was going to have to follow them and listen through the keyhole, so to speak.

Oh, joy.

There was a girl up front who handled the phone and routine orders, and he hoped that she'd stay put. He went back and grabbed his jeans. If he was caught he'd have to say he'd been looking for the bathroom.

Blair waited until enough time had passed for Michael and company to get to that back office, and then he quietly, so quietly, opened the door and listened. He heard nothing so he stole down the hall and peered around the corner. Blair glided down that hall to the studio entrance and listened again. He could just make out a soft murmur of voices, but not words. Slowly, he slid the studio door open and took careful steps till he was at the back office.

He pressed his ear against the door and, wishing that just for once he had Jim's sense of hearing, he concentrated on listening to the conversation he was eavesdropping on.

And it _was_ eavesdropping, which meant that legally anything he learned was useless in court and could get the case thrown out. He was skirting a very thin line here, one that had tripped Jim up before, back when Jim had been so frustrated by getting dicked around by the terrible twins that he'd set up an illegal wiretap. And Blair had gone along with it, because he had wanted Jim to know that he had his back. Simon had pulled Blair's credentials for a while after that little stunt, and Jim had barely avoided charges.

He pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on listening. He just had to make sure that this customer was asking for forged ID, then he'd relay to Jim that they needed to tail this guy, see if they could bring him in on any charges and sweat him, see if he'd roll over on the Pinkerton brothers. If he wanted false ID, he must be up to something illegal.

 _Bingo_. He'd heard enough for confirmation of his suspicions.

Blair eased back from the door and left the studio, then ducked in another empty office so that he could call Jim. Sure, he could just talk and Jim would hear him, but for the court testimony he needed to have a phone call on record that this man had had a private meeting with Michael. And he needed to call right now, so that Michael would assume the girl up front was on the phone, and she would assume that it was Michael's call lighting up the phone system. Then he'd hide out in the bathroom, the door ajar so he could visually ID the man. When Michael ushered the guy out, he'd slide back to the room with the couch, and pretend to be asleep until later.

He closed the door, picked up the phone, and dialed Jim's cell phone.

When Jim picked up, he quickly whispered what he knew and signed off with "love you, man."

But as he finished his spying gig and lay back down on the couch, Michael returned to his work up front, he was still warmed by Jim's last words to him.

"Back atcha, Blair. And I'll be right here."

* * *

Despite his best intentions, Blair did drift off to sleep after a while. So at first, when he realized he was being kissed awake, he let his lips grow pliant and he opened his mouth to his lover. But the kiss was subtly wrong, and when he dragged his eyes open, he realized why. Michael was kissing him, not Jim.

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. I've got a great idea since you're so deliciously disheveled right now, with your street angel looks. We're going to go shoot on location, down by some of the less well kept areas of the city, and afterward I'll treat you to a late lunch, get you cleaned up and buy you some clothes and, I think, some lip gloss and eye liner, that sort of thing. We'll finish up the day's shoot here. And tonight you can stay with me." He stripped the coat and afghan from Blair and pulled him up from the couch.

Blair bent over and grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled them on. He was dying to know how the rest of the team was handling the investigation, to find out if they'd been able to bring in the man who'd ordered the false documents and if he had cracked or not.

"I like obedient boys, Jacob. You will be good for me, won't you? I'm picturing you trolling for johns, or sitting like you were this morning, only next to an adult bookshop or adult movie theater. I want you with the look on your face that you had this morning. I want you needy, and desperate, and quite willing to sell yourself. I'll shoot in black and white – I'm going for a documentary kind of look."

Blair would do it, of course. He needed to stay in Michael's good graces; he needed to be on hand when the bust went down. He'd gathered from listening in to their conversation that the customer was coming back late this afternoon. Or somebody taking his place would come, if Kim could get the guy to fold. God, he needed to talk to Jim.

Instead, he was ushered out the door, Michael's hand on his shoulder.

* * *

So this was what Purgatory felt like. To have heard the sound of Pinkerton kissing Blair awake. To have to watch him touch Blair. To listen to him making plans to fuck Blair later tonight, and go on and on about how he would instruct Blair on how to give the perfect blow job.

And he knew that his own personal Purgatory would end this afternoon, because he wasn't going to let Blair go home with Pinkerton. Didn't stop his stomach from feeling like a rock. Didn't keep him from clenching his fists hard enough to cramp muscles.

All through this long afternoon, he had watched Pinkerton directing Blair at seedy locations, and some poses were plaintive, and some were sultry, and some had Blair looking so damn vulnerable, grimy and beautiful at the same time, that Pinkerton would probably win some damn award or other.

He tailed them when they'd left the printing shop, of course, and was able to hang back at a distance, far enough away that Pinkerton wouldn't twig that he was being observed. Punching the guy and taking Blair away from him, taking his lover home to where Jim could properly make sure he was okay was what he fiercely wanted to do.

It wasn't what he was doing, though. Instead, he was doing his job – and burning in Purgatory.

Pinkerton had hauled Blair to a Pilot truck stop, after stopping at a department store to buy Blair some new clothes. He'd fed him lunch, as promised, and then paid for him to use the shower facilities and change into the new clothes.

This was Jim's opportunity to make contact with his partner. He'd paid for a shower himself, and then waited and watched the hallway where the shower units were located in a row, until Blair, damp haired, wearing new cheap jeans and a clean white T-shirt, opened his door. Jim beckoned him, and as soon as Blair was safely within the shelter of the tidy room, locked the door and drew Blair to him.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he ran his hands down Blair's back.

"I'm fine, Jim. He hasn't done anything worse than kiss me and get a little handsy." But Blair was hugging him tightly, and Jim could smell the mix of scents from him that shouted anxiety and annoyance, and now relief.

"Okay. Harrison – that's the guy who's buying the forgeries – is down at the station right now. He hasn't agreed yet to a deal, but he's talking with his lawyer about it. The DA said his office would drop any new charges if he testifies against Michael Pinkerton. He's got a big court case coming up, and he stands to lose a boatload of money in restitution and fines, plus he's probably going to do some prison time. So, he thought he'd take off and start a new life."

"Do we even have any new charges against him? I've got nothing that will stand up in court." Blair gave Jim one more tight squeeze and then stepped away from him.

"We picked him up on traffic violations and a standing warrant – seems he hasn't paid a lot of parking tickets and ditched going to court on a speeding charge last month, so there was a capeus on him. We bluffed him about knowing more than we actually do about him buying the documents, and he asked to talk to his lawyer before he agreed to the deal. But we're not going to let him come down to the shop and pick up the documents. He's not that good an actor. We're going to have him call Pinkerton and tell him he's tied up with getting his arrangements in order because he's bugging out tonight, and he's sending his brother-in-law over to pick them up and pay for them."

"Does he have a brother-in-law?"

Jim nodded. "Kim and I thought it best to stick with a cover that was based in fact. Pinkerton might have done a little research on the guy, after all. And I resemble his brother-in-law somewhat."

"Okay. I guess I'd better get back to Michael before he comes looking for me. He's got more fun things lined up for me to do. I swear, he treats me like I'm his own personal doll." And Blair made a face that indicated his lack of comfort with that idea.

"I won't kiss you. He might be able to tell, but you stay sharp, you hear? If you need to bail, bail."

Blair shook his head. "Nope. You need me in there for backup. He's not as big as you, but he is a big guy and plenty strong. I'm hanging around."

Jim pulled him to him once again, and kissed him on the forehead.

"Be careful, partner."

Blair eased the door open and departed. Jim set his hearing so he could listen to his guide and ensure that Blair stayed safe while playing this dangerous undercover game.

And resumed his time in Purgatory.

* * *

"Open your legs a little bit wider, baby. Blow me some kisses, now... Ah, that's good. Now close your eyes a little bit, I want the camera to pick up on the eye shadow... Okay, lick your lips very slowly. Arch your back, just a little. Give me a pout, and run your hand down the front of the shirt. That's good. That's real good, baby. Okay, come over here. I want to try a different lipstick on you; I'll take a few more shots and then I want you to shave the stubble off, we'll go for a more androgynous look."

If he had to listen to much more of Pinkerton playing fuck-the-camera with Blair, Jim was going to explode. Mostly with anger, but he'd been uncomfortably hard all during this last session back at the studio. And he wanted those pictures. Nobody but himself should see Blair in all of his gender-bending glory.

Blair's last cigarette break had been a while now, and this session had been going on for almost an hour. It was close to five o'clock and they still hadn't gotten the word that the deal with Harrison had been clinched.

There was no way that Jim was going to let Pinkerton take Blair home with him. He'd have to come up with something that would let Blair off the hook.

"Hold still, now. I don't want you looking like a clown in this lipstick, I want you looking like pure sex. When people look at your picture I want them to not care what your gender is, just that you're hot and very, very available."

More lascivious remarks followed. More clicks from the camera. Eternity kept slowly ticking away, measured by the small sounds emanating from Jim's watch.

Finally, Jim got a reprieve. Kim called with welcome news. They had a warrant to search the shop for evidence, based on Harrison's testimony. Harrison was going to call, using his personal cell phone so that caller ID wouldn't show his location at the police station, and say that he was sending his brother-in-law to pick up his order.

Kim briefed Jim on the intel he needed to become Jeremy Robinson, the husband of Harrison's only sister. All Jim had to do now was wait for the marked money to be delivered to him and an altered driver's license for ID, and for Harrison to make his call to Pinkerton.

Wait while Pinkerton completed his photo shoot. He hoped Blair could stall Pinkerton – Jim was pretty damn sure that when Pinkerton was done with work, that he'd be ready for Miller time, only it'd be Blair that he'd want to drink down. And Jim didn't think the guy would wait until they were at his house. There were rooms in that shop. There were doors. Hell, there was even a damn couch.

He had no way of letting Blair know that the bust was a go, and that he'd be out of there soon, away from Pinkerton's greedy hands and lips.

* * *

Jim watched the girl leave the shop, her car keys in her hand. She'd be picked up and questioned about her involvement in the family business, but Jim suspected she was out of the loop. The Pinkerton brothers had flown under the radar for so long because they had kept their side business private. She might prove helpful, but chances were that she was just an innocent employee flunky.

He'd listened to Harrison's frantic phone call to Pinkerton, the man sounding genuinely stressed. There was a lot to do to get ready to 'go out of town', and he'd gotten tied up making arrangements and then there was a family crisis with his mother. But he needed the order tonight, absolutely had to have it, and so he was sending his brother-in-law to get it. His brother-in-law knew the score, and was out getting the money together right now.

He had begged Pinkerton to wait on him; the photographer had distractedly asked him to describe his brother-in-law and told him that the guy had better show up by six.

Pinkerton hung up the phone and went back to encouraging Blair in his poses. Long moments passed, more directions for Blair to move here, and touch himself there, to show him this kind of look, and give him that kind of expression, until Jim heard the other brother, John, interrupt the shoot.

"Mike. I'm leaving now. Put the camera down and get over here. There's some things I need to discuss with you."

Jim listened as the two brothers took themselves away from the studio and into an office, judging by the sound of a door closing.

"Look. I'm beat; you're just diddling around taking pictures, so you can collect the money for this last order tonight. The guy is late, and I'm through waiting on him."

"Oh, he called. He's sending his brother, or maybe he said his brother-in-law... anyway, he's got till six to get here. Is his stuff ready? I did my part this morning."

"It's done. It's in the safe, along with your work. And listen. Speaking of diddling, I see you've found another boy-toy to play with; where'd you find this one? What happened to that skinny kid with the big green eyes? You don't usually dump your boys quite this fast."

"He was pretty, wasn't he? But he wasn't smart enough to stay away from the booze and he got picked up on a DUI. He was cooling his heels in a holding cell last I checked. But then I found this little cutie down by the jail. He'd been picked up for something minor – open container, I think he said. He's shorter than I normally like, but he's got a real angel face. And cock-sucker lips if I ever saw them."

"Hey. TMI. You know I don't want to know about your sex life. And do not fuck this guy here. I mean it, Michael. Jennifer and I like to sit on the couch, too, and I don't want to know that you've fucked one of your street boys on it. Or in the bathroom, either. Just take him home before you do the deed."

"Who died and left you the boss? If I want to fuck this kid or let him blow me before I leave, what's it to you?"

"Who died and left me the boss? Well, that would be Pop, wouldn't it? Ah, c'mon Mike. I don't want to fight with you. I don't have sex with my girlfriends here, either. It just would be weird for me to know that you're getting your rocks off in the rooms where we're running the family business. Just, you know, respect that, okay. Hey, I'll throw you a bone. You can have the morning off. Now practice delaying gratification and take cutie pie home to fuck and you can play with him for hours when you wake up."

"I still think you're one gigantic prude, John. But okay. Just to make you happy."

"Just because you want the morning off. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, then. Try and get _some_ sleep tonight, Romeo."

Jim kept track of John Pinkerton as he left his brother and went out the front door. He'd be picked up out of sight of the shop, and brought in for questioning. Until they could search the shop, they wouldn't have enough on him to arrest him, as the deal Harrison had made had been with Michael Pinkerton.

Patience, he told himself. It couldn't be too much longer until they could bust the guy.

Michael had returned to his studio area, and what he was saying to Blair had Jim throwing patience right out the window, and jabbing the numbers on his cell phone to find out what the fuck was the delay on that damned money.

"My brother broke the mood, baby. We're done for the day. Hmmm. You look so good, just the way you are. And you know what? What John doesn't know won't hurt him at all. Just sit there and look pretty while I put away stuff. And then I'm going to play with you while I'm waiting for somebody to stop by. Ever have your nipples clamped before?"

* * *

Blair couldn't help a wary look crossing his face at what Michael had just said. But he tamped it down fast and dropped his eyes, thinking furiously.

 _My nipples clamped? Oh, hell, no. This shit has got to stop right now. What the fuck is taking so long? Christ, maybe they weren't able to get the guy to roll over on Pinkerton. But Jim is out there; he's listening and he'll find some way to let me know how to play this. I need to stall, stall, stall._

He looked up from the bench he had draped himself on, letting Jacob dictate his words.

"Um... Michael? Can I get dressed now, if you're done taking my picture? And wash my face? And can I have my money?"

"Noooo. You stay just the way you are, baby. I may not be photographing you right now, but I still like looking at your pretty face. Now go back to spreading your legs wide. And why don't you unbutton the bottom buttons on that shirt; I want to see your dick peeping out. But I don't want you to get bored while I'm tidying up. You can play with yourself, get yourself hard and ready for me."

Michael had been putting cameras back into cases while he talked. He grabbed two and walked over to the room where he'd agreed to provide false documents for that customer early this morning. God, it felt like Blair had been here doing this for a week, not a day.

He hadn't moved a muscle when Michael returned to the studio. The guy frowned at him and waggled his finger in his direction.

"You're not being a good little boy for me. Better watch out. I spank. Now open your legs like I told you to, and touch yourself. I'm going to fuck you as soon as I can, and I like to watch my boys get off with my dick up their asses."

He turned around then and took another load of camera stuff into the room.

Blair stood up. Even Jacob had some lines he would draw in the sand. Jacob had been at this guy's beck and call since yesterday and all he'd been paid was a measly ten bucks. And while he would do blow jobs, he hadn't ever been fucked and he wasn't crazy about the idea. It was supposed to hurt, he'd heard.

He crossed his arms and waited for Michael to come back out. Jacob would be a little scared – Michael was big and he'd been manhandling him since he'd met him down at the police station. But he'd gotten stiffed last night and he'd be damned if he was going to let this guy get any more freebies. He needed this money. It was the reason he'd let himself be talked to like he was a blow up sex doll. And he was kind of grateful for the new clothes and for Michael buying him lunch, but right now he was tired – being a model was more work than he'd realized – and he wanted a cigarette, and he felt a little weird dressed only in this too big shirt and wearing lipstick like a girl. Plus he'd never said he would let himself get fucked or even agreed to a blow job.

Michael had done a lot of assuming, and Jacob hadn't wanted to annoy the guy, not while he still held onto Jacob's pay. But he was going to demand his money, before anything else happened.

That was his plan. He walked over to the door where Michael had disappeared, and when Michael came out he jerked his chin up at him and said, "I want my money. You said you'd pay me after this afternoon's session, and we're done. So I want my money. And um... I never said you could fuck me. Or get a blow job." Blair crossed his arms again and stared defiantly at Michael.

Michael smiled at him, like he'd just done something cute. Fuck. What was it going to take to get Michael to take him seriously? He scowled at the man, but still as Jacob, not himself. He couldn't break character; it might alert Michael that things weren't on the up and up.

"Baby, you are too adorable for words. But I think you've earned that spanking. Not now, though; later, at my house. You're coming home with me, and I'll make sure you feel good. I think it's been too long since anybody has taken care of you; I'm going to make you scream when you come for me. But I don't want you worried about your money. I'll pay you, sweetheart, if you do as I tell you to right this minute. I won't tolerate disobedience from you. Or you can walk out that door and kiss your money goodbye. You won't go to the cops, and you don't have a place to stay, without your pay."

He tapped Blair on the nose again, and then laid hands on Blair's shoulders. "I'm not going to cheat you. I promised you a bonus, and you've earned it. Remember, I'll pay you for coming home with me, much more than you could earn hanging out on the street. And other than turning your butt red, I won't hurt you. Your spanking will feel so good – cause I'm going to make you squirm over my lap in between smacking those sweet cheeks. Do you even know where your prostate is, baby? You'll be yo-yoing so hard between pleasure and pain that it will all be mixed up for you, and you'll come like a freight train for me."

He gave Blair a little shake, and then unbuttoned the bottom three buttons on Blair's shirt. He took Blair's hand and placed it on Blair's cock, and made him stroke himself for a minute.

Blair felt his face turn hot. But as Jacob, he felt kind of mesmerized and Jacob, after his show of defiance, would let himself be pushed around because he did need the money.

"All right, baby. You keep touching yourself like that. Watch me now. Here comes your pay." Blair had to keep stroking himself while Michael got out his wallet and counted out bills, stuffing them one by one into Blair's shirt pocket.

"See, I kept my word. Now, go on and pose on that bench for me. Keep your legs open and make sure I can see your dick, and keep touching yourself. And I want to see that pouty look you had on your face a moment ago. I've still got some things to wrap up. Now where the hell did I put those nipple clamps?"

He touched Blair's nipples, a questioning look on his face, then shrugged. "Oh, well, I've got more at home. We'll be leaving after I fuck you, but I'll spare the couch for my brother's sake. We'll use the bench; I want you kneeling on it with your head down and ass up, wearing just that shirt. And no. You can't wipe off that lipstick or change your clothes afterward, although I will let you put your jeans back on when it's time to leave. You'd stop traffic if I let you go outside dressed like this."

He turned Blair around and swatted him hard on the ass, and then gave him a push. Blair slowly, slowly walked over to the bench of doom. Jesus. When was Jim going to get in here?"

* * *

Jim was ready. Kim and Johnson were ready. Between the four of them, Blair included, they should be able to arrest that horny bastard without much trouble. And Jim needed to get inside before the S.O.B. put Blair through any more humiliating actions.

Kim had brought the money, the search warrants, and Jim's new ID. They'd gone over the plan; Johnson would cover the back door, Kim the front, until Jim had handed over the money for the forged ID documents and placed Pinkerton under arrest. Then he'd call them on their cell phones and they'd execute the search warrant and see what goodies were tucked away that would add additional evidence to the charges.

Kim gave him a shrewd look while they stood by Jim's truck. "Is he still okay in there, Ellison?" Jim raised an eyebrow, while he checked his Sig-Sauer, and then slid it into his back holster. Handcuffs were secured to be out of sight, but easily retrievable. He grabbed a jacket and pulled it on.

"I don't care, you know. About your senses. Your extra skills were why I agreed to your help. Now, is your partner still okay in there? It's past time for him to come out for a cigarette break."

"He's... not hurt. But I need to move now, Kim. Blair's a tough guy, but he's unarmed and you know why Pinkerton wants him to model for him. He's stalling the guy, but soon he's going to have to flat out tell him no to sexual advances and Pinkerton's got the advantage on him with weight and height. I'm good to go. Is Johnson in place?"

"He's going to check in on the radio. I'm going to get into position, and when you see me nod, make your move."

A nod would be too subtle for anybody but a sentinel to catch, but Jim wasn't going to deny that it wouldn't be a problem for him.

"See you on the inside."

* * *

He stepped into the store, the loud bell announcing his presence. Walking past the waiting area, he started walking down the hallway, and called out, "Anybody here?"

A moment later, Pinkerton stepped out into the hallway and waved at him. He met Jim and asked him to wait a moment while he quickly went up front and locked the door.

Pinkerton quizzed him about why he was there and he trotted out the story about doing a favor for his brother-in-law. Pinkerton didn't ask to look at any ID; he seemed distracted and in a hurry.

Jim was ushered into the studio, Pinkerton at his side, and then, involuntarily, he stopped dead. He couldn't help himself. He stared at Blair and saw the hot flush of embarrassment color his partner's face.

Pinkerton laughed, a proprietary sound that echoed in the large room.

"I also do photography, and Jacob there is one of my models. He's a pretty little thing, isn't he? A real street angel, and I'm using his shots for the documentary category for the Cascade Art Show later this summer. Ah, hang on a minute. I need a moment to get the materials ready. I'll be right back."

Blair was fastening his shirt back up, fingers clumsy on the buttons at the bottom of his extra-large white dress shirt, the dull red tinting his face fading. He was naked under the shirt, the tails long enough to come down halfway down his thighs. There were twenties and fives sticking up out of his shirt pocket.

Blair moved towards Jim, and Jim wanted so badly to touch him, to enfold him in his arms. But they both had a job to do. Blair shot him a relieved look and then went to the far wall where clothes were piled in an untidy heap on a chair.

Jim heard the sound of the safe in the office opening, and Pinkerton shuffling papers.

Pinkerton came out, a manila envelope in his hand, and he frowned when he saw that Blair had left the bench and was standing with his jeans in his hand.

"Excuse me. Here. You can look over these. I need to talk to my boy over there for a minute."

He strode over to Blair and took the jeans out of his hands. "What are you doing, baby?" He spoke softly enough that Jim wouldn't overhear him, if Jim had had normal hearing. Blair kind of shrunk away, and looked down.

"I, I just wanted to put my jeans on while that guy is here."

"But I told you to stay on the bench, and to keep touching yourself. If I had wanted you to stop, I would have told you to stop. You're just going to have to try harder to follow my instructions. Now, put those down and come over here to me." Blair dropped the jeans and moved closer to Pinkerton, who touched Blair's lips. Lips that were fuller even than normal thanks to the dusky red lipstick he was wearing.

Jim wanted to cut the man's fingers off. Luckily, Pinkerton quit playing around with Blair's mouth, so Jim shoved that impulse way, way down inside of himself.

The controlling bastard shook his head at Blair, in the manner of someone scolding a kid. "Sometimes I invite a friend or two over to share my boys and from the way my customer's jaw dropped when he looked over your way, married man or not, he was very taken with you. I'm going to give you a little test, baby." He lifted Blair's chin. "Now, you know that I'm going to pay you very well to do what I want. Remember this morning? How cold and miserable you were? Do you want that again? Because the money in your pocket won't last long, will it? You owe people, don't you? And once it's gone, you're back to begging for money for blow jobs and dodging the police. You need me, Jacob. And if you do what I ask, then I'll take good care of you. I bought you clothes today, didn't I? I fed you lunch. Now, are you going to be obedient, or do I kick you to the curb?"

Jim could see Blair's throat muscles working, as he swallowed hard. "I'll be good. But Michael... Um... I've never been fucked by a guy before. I don't really want to do that. It hurts, doesn't it? Do I really have to?"

Pinkerton laughed delightedly. "Oh, you really are a baby, aren't you? Yes. I'm going to fuck you, sweet little virgin. I'm going to take your cherry right there on that bench. And it might hurt a little, but I'll be careful with you. I'll make it feel good." He bent down and kissed Blair on the mouth, a dirty, open-mouthed kiss that had Jim seething. As soon as the money had been transferred, he was putting Pinkerton on the ground so fast that the guy's head would be swimming.

Blair looked a little sick to Jim's eye. And when Pinkerton told him what he wanted him to do for the 'test', he looked even more upset, but he just shrugged his shoulders and told Pinkerton it'd be no problem.

Pinkerton wiped the lipstick Blair had gotten on him off on his sleeve, and then produced a tube from his pocket. He elaborately applied the color to Blair's lips again, repairing what the kiss had smudged, then he took Blair by the hand and brought him to Jim.

"I couldn't help but notice that you seem interested in Jacob. So I thought I'd let you have a closer look. We've been having some fun with gender bending this afternoon. Isn't he gorgeous this way? The eyeliner and eye shadow really adds depth to his big blue eyes. And his mouth. It's positively sinful. So full and red, and luscious in that color. I chose this oversized shirt so that he looks a bit lost in it. White for purity. And he's wearing his own earrings. I think the photos will show him looking both innocent and wanton and so very fuckable that his gender is irrelevant." Pinkerton grinned at Jim, like they were two old buddies.

"I'm going to fuck him tonight. His first time, he tells me. But he needs to learn to do what I say, and I've told him to ask you if you'd like to warm him up for me. I'll watch, of course. You can kiss him, touch him anywhere you want, and he'll give you a hand job. Sorry, but I haven't experienced his mouth for myself yet, so I'm going to be selfish about that."

Pinkerton pulled Blair close to him, wrapped an arm around his waist. "Go on now, baby. Ask the nice man if he'd like to play with you."

Jim was going to murder the son of a bitch. And nobody would ever find the body.

"Look, that's a sweet offer, but I've got a brother-in-law who needs these documents right now. So, no thanks, kid. Now can we finish up here?" Jim put an impatient spin to his words, and Pinkerton let Blair go.

"As you wish. Step into my office, and, Jacob, you wait right here." Jim followed the kinky bastard into the office and sat down across the desk from him.

They went over the agreed upon amount, then Jim counted out the money on the desk. Pinkerton watched greedily as Jim shoved the money over to him. The man placed the marked bills in a leather bank bag, and thanked Jim for doing business with him.

"If you don't mind stepping out and keeping my boy company for a moment I'll be just a moment in here, and then I'll unlock the door and let you out."

Jim nodded. It would be better to arrest him in the studio since this office was too crowded with furniture. As soon as Pinkerton stepped out of here, Jim would slam him up against the wall and cuff him, then make him lie down on the floor. Blair would back him up and they'd call Kim in to do the actual arrest. It was his case, after all. Besides, Jim really didn't feel like hassling with more paperwork than absolutely needed; the sooner he and Blair could get out of here and go home, the better.

He heard Pinkerton open the safe, and he kept an eye on the door, standing in the best position to grab Pinkerton when they would head towards the hallway.

He was keenly aware of Blair. God, he looked so damn hot. So beautiful. Jim had never seen him this way and he regretted keenly that he and Blair had never thought to play around like this, because Blair would hate looking this way ever again, and damn Pinkerton for that. Damn him for embarrassing Blair and making touching him dressed like this into something dirty and wrong.

Blair was quiet, subdued, still being Jacob, and Jim understood completely how undercover work could take you down into places you didn't know you had. Jacob was on the cusp of truly falling into street life and Blair had been excellent in that role. And it could be hard to stop, to break apart that person you'd become and have your true self re-emerge.

But then Blair looked at him and winked. Jim felt relieved. He'd told Kim that Blair was a tough guy, and he was. He was smart and capable and he would shake this off and they'd go home and everything would be okay.

Pinkerton opened the door. And aimed a gun right at Jim's face.

* * *

"Hold your arms to the side, Detective Ellison. Oh, yeah, I remembered who you were. Took me a while, but I started to think you looked familiar when you were counting out the money. We printed your picture for the awards banquet for Cop of the Year. And I've seen you on TV before. I've got a good memory for faces, usually. Guess I was distracted for a while. I'm not now, though, so don't do anything rash because I'll blow you away."

Jim looked hard at the man, assessing his chances of jumping him. He wasn't close enough to grapple with him yet. But Blair, if Pinkerton hadn't tumbled to Blair being a cop, Blair would pull some rabbit out of his ass. It was what he did.

"Don't make any stupid moves, Pinkerton. Your best bet is to lay down that gun and get a lawyer."

"You think I haven't prepared for this possibility? I've got ID and money ready to go. Where's my brother?"

"Arrested by now. Give it up; the place is surrounded."

"I can get out. It's dealing with you that's the problem. Jacob. Search him. He's bound to have a gun. Ellison, put your hands on top of your head. Go on, baby; check him out, find the gun, and bring it to me."

"Me? Uh, I don't like guns very much." That was the truth. Blair didn't like guns, not really, but he was more than competent with them and had long ago accepted the necessity of using one in police work.

"Go on, baby. I'm watching him. Stand to the side and reach inside his jacket."

Blair did so and brought out Jim's gun. He held it like he was afraid it was going to bite him. And while Pinkerton's attention was focused on Jim, Blair deftly let the safety off as he moved to the man's side.

Pinkerton stuck his hand out for the gun, but in a fluid motion, Blair brought it up under the man's chin.

"Cascade P.D., asshole. Drop the gun or I'll blow your head off."

Pinkerton started to turn, shock in his eyes, but Blair jabbed him hard.

"Michael. I can't miss. And you know, I'm pissed about how you've treated Jacob the last two days, you manipulative bastard. Do you really want to make a stupid move, because I will shed no tears for pulling the trigger. You're holding a gun on an officer; I can shoot you right now and IA won't even blink about it." Blair's voice rang out with authority. "Now. Lower the gun. And I'll let you live."

Pinkerton did it. And his Blair, dressed in nothing but a large shirt, barefoot, looking like an escapee from Never-Never Land with his wild hair and earrings and oh-so-kissable lips, made Pinkerton get down on his knees, while Jim confiscated the gun. When Pinkerton was cuffed and face first down on the floor, Blair continued to hold the gun on him while Jim called Kim, and explained that the suspect was cuffed and ready for Kim to read him his rights and execute the search warrant.

"Hey Jim. Take over, will you? I'll get dressed and let in Kim and Johnson." Blair gave Jim his gun back and headed towards the chair with his clothes. He quickly pulled on jeans and slipped his sandals back on his feet. He left the shirt alone, though, and used a T-shirt to wipe off the lipstick.

With a look of loathing, he stuffed the money Pinkerton had paid him into his jeans.

Jim listened as his partner let Kim in the front door, and briefed him. When he returned with Johnson he'd found a rubber band somewhere and had pulled his hair back.

Kim took over then, read Pinkerton his rights, and showed him the search warrant before he sent him to Booking with Johnson and a couple of uniforms. Jim suspected it was because he didn't trust Jim to take Pinkerton in without maybe bashing his head a few times. And probably he didn't trust Blair to do it, either. Smart man, Kim.

At least Pinkerton had kept his mouth shut before being hauled off, probably afraid of saying something that might incriminate him, but it had made it easier on Blair for the guy to be silent. Jim was going to have a long talk with his partner later, make sure that this experience hadn't hurt him. But for now they had a shitload of plain old boring police work to get through.

The three of them handled the search through the building, and tagged damn near everything in the back office, typewriters and the computer included. It took them a couple of hours, but it looked like there would be plenty of evidence to make the DA happy.

During a coffee break – they'd made a pot back in the kitchen – Blair dug the money Pinkerton had given him out of his pocket and passed it to Kim, asking that it be donated to the Police Widows and Orphans Fund.

Kim agreed, looking at Blair's eyes with a concerned look on his face. Jim knew he had to be seeing the eye makeup that Blair still wore. Kim had been keeping an ear to the ground about the Pinkerton's sideline business for quite a while; he'd no doubt heard rumors about Michael's preferences in sexual partners. And Blair had been with Michael Pinkerton all of today and alone with him after the brother had left. Out on the street, Kim had asked Jim if Blair was okay in there. He had probably known the kinds of things that the guy would try to pull on his new street boy.

Kim took Blair off by himself, then, and Jim gave them privacy. When they came back, Kim said he was recommending to Banks that Blair be placed on paid leave for the next two days, because of the undercover work he'd done. He'd taken his preliminary statement and the rest could wait. Jim, though, needed to come down to the station, to do some paperwork on both this case and the arson case.

"I'm sending your partner home – your home, I believe – he needs some time to readjust before coming into the station. He did a good job today. Hell, he saved your bacon and kept the case from exploding into bloodshed. I'll let Banks know, in writing, how much his undercover work helped break this case. I'm not sure about all of what Pinkerton tried on Blair, but you watch out for him. Get him help if he needs it. Drive him home, and I'll meet you at the station. I want your input on questioning the Pinkertons."

* * *

"Jim, can I ask you something? And will you be honest with me?" They were almost home, and Jim had driven it with Blair tucked against his side.

"I'll try. What do you want to know?"

"I saw your face when you saw me in the studio. Were you acting for Pinkerton's benefit or were you really turned on by what I was wearing. Because it seemed to me that you were turned on."

"I, uh. I was definitely turned on. What about you? Did it disgust you to be wearing makeup and that shirt?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'm sorry he made you do that. Can I help you not feel weird about it?"

"I said yes because I was wearing it for him. But you know, he showed me some of the pictures he took with the digital camera, and if I'm being objective I'd have to say I found the gender bending part interesting. I might want to try that again sometime – just not right now. But only if you liked me like that."

"I did. And if you decide to play that game someday, I'll play right along with you. But if the thought of wearing lipstick and eyeliner makes you uncomfortable, makes you feel like Jacob, then don't do it for my benefit. I wouldn't like that at all, Blair. You should do it because you want to do it, not because I think you were hot, dressed like you were." Blair chewed his lip, looking thoughtful.

Jim cleared his throat. "And by the way, thanks again for saving my ass tonight. Pinkerton met the real you, when you held that gun on him, and he believed every word you spoke."

Blair sighed, a tired sound that hit Jim's protective buttons. "Undercover work is hard. I really was that poor loser kid for a while. And you know, Jacob probably would have stayed with Michael, would have become his little bitch. Michael is a sexual dominant. Jacob was pretty submissive. They probably would have ended up compatible, if they had gotten together."

Jim turned onto Prospect. He hoped he wouldn't be too long at the station. He was in serious need of sleep himself, and he wanted to be with Blair, hold him, and let the anger and concern he'd felt all day drain away. Blair didn't say anything until Jim pulled up in front of the loft.

"I might surprise you someday then, Jim. I might call you up and tell you that I'm at home, dressed in one of your shirts – and lipstick. Don't stay too long at work, okay. You're tired, too. God, I can't wait to take a shower."

He didn't kiss Jim. That was okay. Blair probably wanted to wash away all traces of Michael's touch. He grabbed Jim's hand and squeezed it, then he opened the truck door and slid out on the sidewalk. He stood and watched as Jim made a U-turn, and headed back down Prospect. He watched until the truck must have disappeared from his sight, but Jim could still see him in his rear view mirror.

* * *

 _Epilog_

Jim picked up his cell phone from the truck seat to silence its racket. Probably Blair, who had declined to tag along for the Saturday afternoon errand run, had something else he wanted Jim to pick up from the store.

It was Blair and he _did_ want Jim to pick some things up. Jesus. He felt his dick start to harden as Blair finished his list, the mischief plain in his voice.

Screw the stop at the hardware store, and picking up his dry cleaning. Blair was feeling playful today, and Jim couldn't wait to find out what he had in mind.

* * *

Blair stood naked in front of their closet, feeling fresh from his shower. But he wasn't interested in his own wardrobe. He was looking for something of Jim's. Something that would be big on him, and crisp, and long sleeved... Ah, maybe that one – he moved hangers to one side and pulled it out into the light.

Light blue with dark blue pinstripes, and roomy even on Jim. He pulled the shirt on, and buttoned it up slowly. It felt good against his bare skin. He shivered a little and felt his dick start to swell.

He wanted to try this with Jim. He wanted to feel exotic and different and to see that deer in the headlight look on Jim's face. He wanted Jim to look at him the way he had in Pinkerton's studio.

And he was going to do this as himself, as Blair Sandburg, not poor little lost Jacob. He'd meditated, he'd processed, he'd done his research, and now he was ready to do some field work.

He looked at himself in the full mirror. This would be what Jim would see, his own shirt on Blair's body, Blair absolutely naked under it. Not just bare skin – Jim saw Blair sans clothing all the time, but _naked_. He would feel exposed under that shirt, and maybe a little bit shy, waiting for Jim's hands to unbutton the shirt that slid a little bit off of Blair's shoulders and slide his big hands in to palm Blair's nipples.

He shivered again, and went on looking at himself as Jim would see him. Blair's hair was loose, hair curling into its typical wild state as it dried. Maybe he could make some small braids, add some ribbon to it. He'd put beads in his hair before, but never ribbon. Yeah, he thought that would help make him feel a little more gender-bent.

He looked through the box he kept necklaces and earrings and bracelets in, and picked delicate chains and small gold hoop earrings, beautiful, but not what he usually chose to make a statement about who he was.

But he was going to play with gender bending today and deliberately explore a part of himself that he hadn't really wanted to before Michael had made him try it. Being short and having long hair and liking to wear bracelets and necklaces, he had been kidded and teased sometimes, or just plain insulted, about looking like a girl enough that he'd made it a point to stay away from actually blurring the gender lines in his choices of clothing, and he'd never worn makeup before the events of three weeks ago.

Right now, Jim was picking out Blair's makeup. Jim was choosing what shade of lipstick to apply to Blair's lips, and what color of eye shadow to brush over his eyelids. This was going to be a participant-study for both of them.

He waited, a little nervously, for Jim to come home. He was tempted to fire up his laptop, get lost in reading about the psychological aspects of gender versus the biological definition of sexual identity, to ponder about how Jung might say he was letting his inner anima, the internal feminine side of himself, out to play. But if he made this, this 'exploration' of his into a detached academic exercise, it would defeat the entire purpose for him.

He wanted to feel, not to make this experience the basis for a study, or a paper.

He wanted Jim to look at him like he _was_ exotic and sensual, and he wanted Jim to watch Blair's mouth, lushly colored with lipstick, suck Jim's cock, and to see Jim go off like a firecracker.

So he didn't watch TV or boot up his laptop or open a book. Instead, he stood at the balcony window, feeling his need to touch, to be touched, swell and build, waiting for his lover to come to him.

 _* * *_

Jim took the stairs up to the loft, because he wasn't in the mood to have anything slowing him down; he wasn't going to wait for the old elevator to creak its way up to the third floor.

He clutched at the bag holding the makeup Blair had told him to get. Jesus, making his selections had been embarrassing, He'd had to fend off helpful sales clerks who seemed to think he was in over his head. Maybe he'd given them that impression by the way he'd stared so long at the different shades of lipstick and eye shadow. He'd been picturing how this or that tone of deep red or dark pink lipstick would look on Blair's already ridiculously full lips. How eyeliner would subtly alter his eyes, adding something foreign and mysterious to his cheerful and open face.

He'd heard two of the clerks, after he'd denied needing any help once again, speculate that he couldn't be trying to buy something for his wife or girlfriend, because _those_ customers usually threw themselves onto their mercy, grateful for the help.

No, they'd decided he was probably buying something for himself, and they'd watched him covertly, amusement in their eyes.

He wasn't going to tell Blair about that. Blair would find it way too entertaining, and if Blair decided he liked wearing makeup sometimes, then Jim bet that Blair might make him do this part again. God, he hoped Blair would like to do this again. He'd had a low level of arousal that he'd had to keep clamped down ever since Blair had phoned him. But he hoped that Blair would buy his own supplies in the future.

He walked briskly to the loft door, opened it with his key and strode into the room, zeroing in on Blair standing by the balcony doors.

He dropped the bag on the table, and stopped a little in front of Blair, who was smiling shyly at him. He looked cute dressed in just Jim's shirt. And there was something different about his hair – tiny braids and blue ribbons scattered through the soft curls. He was wearing jewelry – well, he usually had on jewelry of some kind – but these bracelets and earrings and necklaces were delicate golds and silvers, not the more typical leather and beads combination he would normally have encircling his neck and wrists.

"Hey," Jim said, feeling a little awkward, hoping that doing this wouldn't feel weird to both of them.

"I know."

Jim raised an eyebrow and took a step closer. "What do you know?"

Blair put his arms loosely around Jim's waist. "That this is new territory for us and it feels kind of strange, and kind of exciting and kind of awkward. And you're probably wondering if my head is fucked up from what I did with Michael. I'm okay, Jim. I suppose when you, or any cop who's been undercover, have to do things to stay in character, that we all have to readjust and give ourselves forgiveness for what we did."

"You didn't do anything wrong, Blair. But I hate that you were trapped and had to play along with Pinkerton. I'm glad that the judge refused bail for the pair of them. They're a flight risk if I ever saw one, probably got a couple of false IDs stashed away. But what do you think you need to forgive yourself about?"

They'd talked about how the case had gone down before today, and how frustrated and angry Jim had been, listening to Blair being touched and humiliated by Pinkerton. Jim had practiced his own form of anger management by substituting a punching bag for Pinkerton's smug face. And Blair, Blair had been thoughtful a lot, had written reams in his journal, and had kept re-affirming to Jim – and Simon and Kim – that while this case had been a learning experience for him, he wasn't screwed up about it. Jim knew that his partner was sleeping fine, wasn't irritable or angry with people, and he sure didn't seem depressed or anxious. So what was this forgiveness deal?"

He looked down into Blair's earnest eyes, waiting for him to go on.

"I forgave myself for becoming Jacob, for burying every assertive trait that I have so that I could become what Pinkerton needed me to be. I let him kiss me and touch me, and talk to me and dress me the way he did so that I could do my job. But I wouldn't have let him fuck me on that bench, Jim. I'd have thought of something to stall him. And I knew you would be there as soon as you could. That helped. But it was also pretty embarrassing when you saw me in the studio. But the look on your face... man. It did something to me, and I want to see if it was just in that moment or if we tumbled onto something maybe a little kinky but cool for us. Because I think I like gender bending, in and of itself."

He brought his lips up to Jim's, and Jim wrapped his arms tightly around him. Blair gave him one hell of a smooch, then grinned up at him.

"So let's go play. I can't wait to see what's in the bag."

* * *

Jim was in heaven, being ministered to by his own personal angel. An angel whose head of hair he was gripping as said angel, mouth so very red and lush as he sucked on Jim's cock, kneeled to worship him, leaning against the couch where Jim was sprawled out, naked, legs wide apart so that his angel had plenty of room to work.

And oh God, this was good. So, so good. He flashed on images of Blair from this afternoon. Blair dressed only in Jim's shirt, and Jim sneaking his hands in to touch him while they had made dinner together. Blair kissing his neck and leaving a trail of lip shaped brands against his skin. Blair holding still while Jim had concentrated on using the eyeliner to draw attention to Blair's gorgeous eyes. The look on Blair's face as Jim had slowly uncapped the first lipstick from the bag, something called Raspberry Sorbet, and he had licked his lips, waiting for Jim to apply the lush color.

They'd dragged the touching and kissing and looking at each other out till dark, and eaten and watched a movie, Blair sitting on Jim's lap for most of it, and that wasn't something Blair normally did either, He didn't go out of his way to emphasize that he was a lot smaller than Jim. But tonight, he apparently had decided to relax about it, and he'd been a warm and cuddly bundle in Jim's lap. Jim had teased him, too, small touches on Blair's cock and then he'd kiss Blair's neck, or bite his ear, sucking the small gold hoop into his mouth and making Blair wiggle and squirm and pant, and then he'd stop, with Blair's arousal scent so strongly pouring from him that Jim was getting drunk on it.

Finally, Blair had had enough. He'd picked up the remote and turned the TV off and then tossed it out of Jim's reach. He slid off of Jim's lap and kneeled before him, and unfastened Jim's pants.

"I've let you set the pace so far, Jim, but it's my turn now. I want you naked on this couch and I want you to watch me while I suck you off. And then, you blow me, too. And I don't care where you do me – the couch, the floor, the counter, up in bed, whatever. So move it, lover. Shuck those pants."

And he had, and Blair had proceeded to do his angel thing and Jim had stood it for as long as he could, mesmerized by Blair's wet and luscious looking mouth moving on his cock, until with a groan and holding fast to Blair's hair, he'd come and come and come.

So. Fucking. Good.

He lay dazed, Blair watching him with a pleased look on his face that said, 'Yes, I _am_ a god, and the king of cock-sucking' and Jim was going to wipe that look right off of Blair's pretty face – because while he was always beautiful to Jim, tonight he was _pretty, too_ – and he was going to take that title right away from Blair and bestow it on himself instead. Once he could move again, that is.

* * *

Blair looked absolutely debauched laid out on the bed, only one button holding the shirt on his body, allowing Jim access to his nipples and belly – he thought he'd pick up a belly chain for Blair to wear for the next time they went on gender-bending safari – and to the cock that was trying so hard to get his attention.

Jim had taken Blair at his word, and had started by pushing Blair down on the floor after he was able to move off of the couch. He'd pinned Blair's legs with the weight of his own body and had leaned down and kissed him everywhere on his face and neck and upper torso – except on the lips. They'd found out earlier in the afternoon that while Blair looked hot and wild and so pretty wearing lipstick, his lips didn't actually taste that good. Jim could have dialed it down, he supposed, but he wanted to experience Blair with his senses turned up, not down.

Blair had cheerfully said that it wasn't a problem and then he'd proceeded to kiss Jim everywhere he could in his attempts to wipe the lipstick off. And when he 'd been lipstick free then epic, lip-locked kissing had ensured.

And when Blair was a mess of hormone driven need on the floor, then Jim had moved him to the counter and boosted him up, and slowly started unbuttoning the loose shirt. Very slowly, and with each button newly undone, he had to re-check his territory with lingering touches that had driven Blair nuts, until he was actually trying to hump the air that Jim's fingers had just passed through.

He was making wailing, plaintive sounds and his eyes were so bright and beautiful, he was just so beautiful, flushed like this and breathing deeply and Jim wanted to keep him this way forever.

But that would be cruel and unusual punishment, and Jim liked to think of himself as a merciful man. And a practical one. If he let Blair have that orgasm while he was laid out like a buffet on the counter, he'd be useless to move on his own. And Jim didn't really want to carry him up to bed.

Which is why he'd held out the promise of finally letting Blair come as the incentive to move upstairs He was ready to give Blair the mercy stroke right now, here in their bed, so that Blair could pass out in peace and Jim could cuddle him while he himself drifted off in slumber.

There was one more thing to do first. Well, two things.

Blair's lips were currently lipstick free and Jim wanted another taste of that sweet mouth before he dolled Blair back up. So he took and he plundered, until he was satisfied and Blair's eyes were nearly as black as his eyeliner.

Then he proceeded to use what the package had called a cream lipstick, aptly named Red Hot Lover, and with a small brush he, oh, so carefully, applied the color to Blair's lips. Blair was panting and trying to reach for his own dick by the time Jim had decided that Blair's lips were perfect, but Jim blocked him until he gave up and just looked up at Jim.

He was gorgeous. Just... gorgeous. Male facets and female elements complimented each other in his features and his lips, naturally full and lovely, were so red and shiny and slick and the slight shadow of his stubble made a yin/yang tableau. Jim leaned over him and Blair gave fervent unintelligible praise as Jim kissed his way down to Blair's cock and took it into his mouth.

Scant minutes later, when Blair came so hard his body lifted into a bow, Jim decided that maybe they could share the title of king of the cock-suckers.

* * *

They'd eaten a leisurely Sunday breakfast and were cleaning up when Blair made his move.

"Say, Jim?" He held up the receipt for the makeup that had been shoved down into the bag. "Did you have any trouble buying my makeup yesterday?"

"No." Keep it simple, stupid, he told himself. There was no reason to have a conversation about how embarrassing and a little nerve-wracking buying some lipstick and eye makeup had been.

"Oh, really? How long did it take you to decide what to buy me?" Blair smiled, a little wickedly, and Jim remembered that Blair was quite capable of telling time and, shit, just how long had he stood mesmerized by the choices to make before actually buying what he needed. What Blair needed. What he needed Blair to need.

"I don't remember, Sandburg. Hey, want to go shoot some hoops over at the park?"

Blair laughed. It was kind of an evil sound, actually, and Jim definitely was feeling a little wary now. "Oh, maybe. After we finish this conversation. So Jim, tell me – and don't spare the details – what was it like for you to purchase things that are traditionally female items. Did you ask for help?" Jim shook his head. "Was it something that disturbed you or bothered you? Or were you totally cool with it? Did any sales clerks try and help you? C'mon, Jim. Share your research findings."

"Jesus. The things I put up with from you. I'm just going to do myself a favor and tell you what you want to know so you'll stop being a pain in my ass." Blair tried to look innocent but Jim knew his partner pretty damn well, every inch of him, and he wasn't fooling Jim one little bit. He was up to something.

"I was trying to keep from popping a boner all the time I was buying that stuff, because I was picturing it on you, and the sales women came to the conclusion that just because I didn't ask them for help that I was buying it for myself."

Blair chuckled. "Well, maybe we should talk about that, because you know I've always thought your fondness for that hideous apron of yours might conceal some cross-dressing fantasy. Do you want to trade places sometime and we'll use the makeup on you, instead of me?"

Jim had known this question was coming. How could he not have known it, after living with Mr. Curiosity for so many years.

"No, I don't think I'll be wearing any lipstick, because the thought of it on my mouth doesn't turn me on. But I really liked it on you. And quit insulting my apron. It's just an apron, not a lifestyle choice." Jim walked over to the sink and started filling it with hot water and dirty dishes.

Blair brought him his empty coffee cup to wash.

"Fair enough. Well, about you not wanting to do a little gender bending of your own. But the apron is fair game. It's so ugly that it's kind of cool. But don't think you're off the hook. I want you to be involved the next time I get in the mood to do this again. And it's time for a little payback for making me give you a hand job as your massage therapist while we were being watched by those goons during your undercover case earlier this year." Blair gave another one of his wicked smiles, and Jim braced himself for whatever was coming.

"So, Jim, you might want to do a little research on the best makeup to buy, something that is free of animal testing, maybe something that uses some organic ingredients, because we've got a partnership going here and I'm only wearing makeup that you're buying me. Fair's fair, after all. And payback's a bitch."

Then the little shit laughed his ass off. But Jim smacked his butt with a damp towel till he begged for a truce, and then they both left to play some B-ball.

Jim thought to himself that if buying makeup was the price he'd have to pay to see Blair like he was last night in his gender bended glory, then Jim had gotten a hell of a deal. And he guessed he wouldn't really mind Blair's payback much after all.

The End

Laurie


End file.
